The lamp illuminates Your picture.
I kneel in obeisance as the day fades,
Your golden flute sparkles with fairy lights,
The peacock feather emits a myriad of shades,
Your blue hue reaches new ethereal heights.
A few random strokes of my paint brush,
A more benign look and the hint of a smile,
A few more jewels, robes more plush,
And lo! You are beauty personified!
Are you more of a God now, Lord?
If I draw wrinkles on a weather beaten face,
The flute I replace with a begging bowl,
The silken robes, whoosh! tattered robes I paint,
And now, my Lord, are you in a pauper’s soul?
I need an answer, God.
Mankind lives in a maelstrom of beliefs,
Heads bent, they salute me with gold,
And push away the leper and the old.
Treat both equally, whispered He,
For I am him and he is me.
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